


The Dragon Met The Wolf...

by kinslayer



Series: Path of the Dragon [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Implied Male HoK/Martin Septim, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinslayer/pseuds/kinslayer
Summary: Nephthys and Sharenius meet for the first time.





	The Dragon Met The Wolf...

“Another traveling mage, huh? Here for Nightshade, perhaps?”

Nephthys frowns on her seat. “Pardon?”

“Oh,” the innkeeper says, “sorry. Most outsiders dressed like that come here looking for him. What can I get you?”

“Wine, please,” Nephthys asks, fiddling with her coin purse. Then, her curiosity gets the better of her, “who’s Nightshade?”

“Ah. He’s a dark elf like yourself. I don’t know what he does, exactly,” says Corpulus Vinius, fetching two bottles, “but it must pay well. The upstairs seats are reserved for him and his… clientele. Alto or spicy?”

“Hm. Let’s try spicy. So, you don’t know what he does? At all?”

“Nay,” he pours the wine, and collects his money. “I used to think he sold ‘comfort’, if you catch my meaning, but after a while? Not so much.”

Her brow raises and she takes a sip of the wine. “What changed your mind?”

Corpulus smirks at her. “He’ll bed nearly anyone who asks. No charge.”

“Not quite good business practice if that’s what he sells, yes,” she laughs, and her husky dog howls along. “You just let him do whatever it is he does, then?”

“Aye. He pays a night double what my patrons do in a week. Honestly? I’d much rather not know what he does there, so long as the coin keeps coming.”

“And what’s with the name, ‘Nightshade’?”

“No idea,” says the innkeeper. “I mean, I know it’s some sort of flower but I have no idea why he’d call himself that.”

“Hm. Upstairs, you said?”

“Upstairs, aye. Don’t pick a fight or nothin’, alright?” the innkeeper says when she gets up from her seat.

When Nephthys is up on the second floor of the inn, she sees him.

Tall, slender, and dressed in distinct Cyrodiilic garb, with a black crossbow at his feet. A pocketed leather coat with steel pauldrons covers a light chestpiece with intricate ornaments. On his left hand, a ring Nephthys guesses to be of Ayleid inspiration in its design, and on his right, a ceramic goblet filled with a red potion she does not recognize. His hair is unnaturally white, shaved on one side and swept to the other. His mouth is curved in a smile, but it doesn’t reach his gaunt cheeks. His left eye is red, the other violet, and they are both focused on her as she sits besides him on the table.

“Good evening, darling.”

“So you’re Nightshade?”

“The one and only,” Nightshade shows a sharp grin, “and who might you be?” 

“Been wondering about that myself these days.”

“Ah, what is life without some identity crisis? What about a name, sweetling?”

“How about ‘Deathbell’?”

“Oh, I like you,” Nightshade laughs. “Yes, yes, I do. And why have you come looking for me, darling deadly Deathbell?”

Nephthys ponders for a moment, and drinks from her nearly forgotten wine.

“I was guessing your occupation with the innkeeper.”

Nightshade’s colorful eyes squint as his grin widens.

“And did you guess?”

“I’m thinking either you’re some sort of spy, or agent.”

“Wrong, darling. But close.”

“Then… A thief? Burglar for hire?”

“I have been both those things,” Nightshade nods, and drinks from his cup, “but neither now.”

“Then you’re an assassin.”

His eyebrows raise, but his smile now reach his eyes. “Well! Usually people think me a courtesan, but I see you are more astute than that. Bravo!”

“I’m right, then?”

“Yes, you are!” Nightshade says, his lush lips now curved in a smirk. “But if you wish to bed me, you have but to ask.”

“I’ll, huh,” Nephthys stammers, “think about it. But right now, I might have another use for someone like you. If you’re up for it.”

Nightshade eyes her, his head cocked to the side. “Do tell.”

“You seem quite capable, and more discreet than the folks I’ve encountered. What say you accompany me in my travels?”

“Accompany you?” Nightshade repeats, “as a bodyguard?”

“I guess so, yes. I find myself in need of skilled help, now that I am exploring with no one but my dog,” Nephthys nods to Shadow near the stairs. “I lost my investments with the Dragon attack in Helgen, and I only managed to recover part of the coin I lost.”

“So you’ve taken the mantle of a treasure hunter, now, is it?”

“More like a tomb raider, if the draugr have any say about it,” she smiles, “but I don’t adventure for coin only. I’m a sorcerer, and I have a grimoire to write on.”

“Oh, Deathbell, I’m afraid I don’t-” he begins, then stops. “Hm… Unless…”

“Yes?”

“Sorcerer, hm?”

“I am, yes.”

Nightshade seems to consider her for a while, his eyes fixated on hers for so long it starts to make her uncomfortable. But then he speaks.

“I could be persuaded to travel with you.”

“And what is your price?”

“Just a fair share of the loot we find together. No fees for my service.”

That takes Nephthys by surprise. “Is that so?”

“Indeed,” he chirps, almost happily. “All I ask in return is that you’ll owe me a favor.”

“A favor? What kind of favor?”

“Nothing too unethical, I assure you,” he says.

“It’d be nice to have details.”

“Wouldn’t it?”

Nephthys stares at him. “You won’t tell me, huh?”

“It’s far more fun this way, do you not think so?”

“So it’s a wager.”

“We are both placing wild bets, are we not?”

“You know what?” says Nephthys, stirred on by the wine. “I accept your terms.”

Nightshade’s white brows raise again, as if he didn’t expect her to actually take his offer. Then, he smiles.

“Then I suppose we should introduce each other properly, hm? Sharenius Septim,” he says, in a whisper of his gravelly voice, and extends his hand towards her, the turquoise gem in his ring glinting under the candlelight. 

“Nephthys Serethis,” she says as she shakes his hand. “Oh. You’re undead, are you not?”

“Pardon?”

“Your skin is too cold. You don’t look fucked up enough to be a lich, so… vampire?”

He stares at her, the same considering look of before.

“By the Nine, I hope you do not plan on being such a smartass in our travels, Serethis.”

“Can’t promise that.”

They smile at one another, each taking a sip from their glass, unaware of how deeply they will change the other’s life in the coming months.


End file.
